


Hirsute (a tale in five acts)

by kathkin



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Jaskier | Dandelion Has Body Hair, Minor Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, this is very silly but somehow not the silliest Yennskier fic I've posted this week
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-03
Updated: 2021-03-03
Packaged: 2021-03-16 08:07:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,299
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29821935
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kathkin/pseuds/kathkin
Summary: The bard's shirt, loose-fitting as it was, had come untucked at the back, revealing a strip of pale skin – and a line of dark hair running down the base of his spine, dipping out of sight down below the waistband of his breeches and up behind his shirt and doublet. It was the heat, she’d reflect later, that made her so uncharacteristically loose-lipped. “Does it go all the way up?”Five times Yennefer was curious about Jaskier's back hair and one time she had her curiosity sated.
Relationships: Jaskier | Dandelion/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg
Comments: 20
Kudos: 150





	Hirsute (a tale in five acts)

1.

It was late summer, and sticky. Yennefer brought her own breeze with her into the tavern, ruffling her hair and the hem of her dress, ignoring the puzzled and fearful looks from the villagers.

Geralt was nowhere in sight. Jaskier was leaning over the bar, waiting lazily to be served. He gave her a cursory nod as she approached. Over the past months he’d grown rather more civil with her; more inclined to be coolly polite, rather than insult her to her face. She’d consider it an improvement, if she cared a whit how he talked to her.

His shirt, loose-fitting as it was, had come untucked at the back, revealing a strip of pale skin – and a line of dark hair running down the base of his spine, dipping out of sight down below the waistband of his breeches and up behind his shirt and doublet.

She’d had enough glimpses of his arms and legs and chest to know he was hairier than his boyish face would suggest. But this was – intriguing. She studied that sliver of hair, and wondered how far up it went.

Idly, she reached out to lift his shirt and take a peek.

Jaskier caught her wrist before she could lift it more than an inch. “What are you doing?” he drawled, either unamused or perhaps too muzzy from the heat to muster much of a reaction.

“Nothing,” said Yennefer sweetly, tugging her hand out of his grip. She looked again at his back. It was the heat, she’d reflect later, that made her so uncharacteristically loose-lipped. “Does it go all the way up?”

The bard stared at her over his shoulder. He stood up straight, and tucked his shirt back into his breeches with pointed and theatrical motions. “That,” he said, “is absolutely none of your business.”

2.

It had been autumn for over a month, but the summer weather was lingering and the air was warm. She found Geralt out on the terrace, a map of the area spread out in front of him, making plans.

Jaskier was next to him, in his shirtsleeves, leaning over the table and studying the map with a pensive expression as if he actually understood any of what Geralt was doing.

“Morning,” said Geralt as she joined them. Jaskier raised his eyes, and said nothing. Looking back down at the map he rubbed the back of his neck.

The shirt he was wearing was cut low at the back. The short hairs at the nape of his neck ran down – down – underneath his shirt. _Did_ it go all the way down, she wondered. 

“It’ll be roosting somewhere in the hills,” Geralt was saying. “If you can help with a tracking spell we can find its nest – get in there while it’s asleep –” He went on talking, but she was only half listening. Monster hunts bored her. They all ran together after a while.

She watched the bard’s fingers move on the back of his neck, stroking his hair, and thought idly of putting her own fingers there.

“Yennefer?” said Geralt.

“Hm?” She glanced up – not _quite_ quickly enough to keep Jaskier from catching her looking.

“What?” he said, touching his neck rather more self-consciously. “Am I sunburnt back there again?”

“Yes,” Yennefer lied. “You’re peeling. It’s disgusting.”

He felt the back of his neck. “I’m not,” he pronounced. “You liar.”

“Yennefer,” said Geralt. “The spell?”

“Yes, yes, I heard you,” she said. “I’ll have it for you this afternoon.”

3.

“I don’t understand why you care.”

“I _don’t_ care,” Yennefer insisted. “It’s just that it’s a very simple question. Men take off their clothes around each other all the time, don’t they? You’re completely shameless, as a group. You’ve known him twenty years. You _must_ have seen him without his shirt.”

She was sitting up in bed, her back pressed to the headboard, the sheets draped across her lap. Geralt lay beside her, flat on his back, his eyes closed. “Yeah. Probably.”

“And?”

“And I didn’t make a study of his back hair.”

“But you’ve _seen_ it,” said Yennefer. “You don’t need to make a study of it to notice how much there is.”

“Yeah, well,” he said, “I didn’t notice.”

“You’re being obstructive. It’s a simple question. Yes or no, out with it.”

“Hm.”

Geralt lay silent and motionless. If she couldn’t feel his mind humming away she might have thought he’d gone to sleep.

Then he said, “are you attracted to him?”

“ _What?_ ” said Yennefer. “Why would you ask me that?”

“S’simple question.”

“Emphatically no,” she said. “Not in the slightest. I can’t imagine why you’d think that.”

“Just seem very interested in his naked body.”

“It’s purely a matter of scientific curiosity.”

“I don’t care,” Geralt said. “We’ve talked about this. You can fuck anyone you want.”

Yennefer scoffed. “Even your bard?”

“He’s not _my_ bard,” said Geralt. “And yeah. If you want to sate your scientific curiosity go right ahead.”

“My curiosity could be sated tonight if you’d just _tell_ me.”

“Already told you I don’t know.” There was a slight smile playing about his lips.

“You’re lying.”

“I’m going to sleep.”

He lapsed back into silence.

“Geralt,” she said. “ _Geralt_. Witcher. I can tell when you’re lying.” She nudged at him with her foot. “Geralt!”

“M’sleeping.”

“You aren’t,” she said. “You swine.”

4.

It was a simple plan, and obvious once she thought of it.

“Yennefer!” said the bard, flattening himself against the archway. “What brings you here?”

“Well, I was going to take a bath.” Yennefer wrapped her robe more tightly around herself. “How about you?”

“Just finished,” he said, trying to cover himself with his hands.

“I see.” She stepped to the side. “Don’t let me get in your way.”

“Actually, I think I shall head back to the cold bath for a bit.” He ducked his head back the way he’d come. “But, ah. Ladies first.”

“No – no,” she said, gesturing for him to go ahead. “You go on.”

“That would be contrary for the usual etiquette,” he said, motioning emphatically for her to go through the archway.

“You were here first,” she said. “You go.”

He repeated the motion. “I insist.”

“Well, so do I.”

He glanced over his shoulder. “I don’t mean to be rude,” he said. “But I’d prefer not to turn my back to you – especially in my nude and vulnerable state.”

“Why on earth not?”

“For fear you might lay a curse on me,” he explained. “Naturally.”

Yennefer leaned in closer. “I could lay a curse on you from any direction.”

“Yes, but at least from the front I’d be able to see it coming.” The bard adjusted his stance, still struggling to cover himself properly.

“Now you’ve offended me,” she said. “If you don’t go first I shall take it as a grievous insult.”

“Well, then, it appears we’re at an impasse.” He slouched back against the archway. “I can do this all day.”

“So can I,” said Yennefer. She stared at him. He stared back.

The air in the bathhouse was warm and steamy and smelled of sweat. The bard, conversely, smelled faintly of chamomile. In those long moments, waiting for him to break, she looked him up and down. He was an oddly put together man, she decided, his legs too long for his body and the thick hair on his chest and stomach clashing discordantly with his soft and boyish face. A strange combination of parts which, when put together, worked better than they had any right to.

She considered it. It was a large and cheap bathhouse and it was bound to be full of any number of dark corners a couple might hide themselves away in. He’d probably be up for it, assuming he didn’t think she was trying to hex him. And Geralt _had_ given her his blessing.

The bard smacked his lips in thought, and then – think of the devil – raised his head and said over her shoulder, “Geralt! Hi.”

“Hm?” She turned to look.

There was nobody there. In the moment it took her to register that she’d been had, and humiliatingly so, there was a rapid pattering of footsteps on damp tiles and when she turned back to the archway he was gone.

“For _fuck’s_ sake,” she said to herself.

5.

“How would you gentleman feel about making this a little more,” Yennefer paused for dramatic effect, “interesting?”

Jaskier touched his hand to his chest. “ _Yennefer_ ,” he said. “Are you proposing we gamble?”

“In a sense.”

“Well, unfortunately for you, I’m not a gambling man,” he said.

“Yeah, you are,” said Geralt.

“No I’m not.”

“You gamble all the time.”

“ _Well_ ,” said Jaskier, more emphatically. “Tonight I am not a gambling man, on the grounds that, tragically, I have no money.”

“That isn’t the only way to gamble,” said Yennefer. “There’s other ways.”

Jaskier rested his elbow on the table and stared at her. “Are you proposing,” he said, “that we play strip dice?”

“I am indeed.”

They exchanged glances. Jaskier shrugged. “Yeah, alright,” he said. “Sounds fun. I’m in.”

“Yeah, I’m in,” said Geralt.

“Wonderful,” said Yennefer.

This was a good plan, she’d decided. She’d had no doubt Jaskier would be game, being as be acted like a teenager most of the time and had very little shame about his naked body. Anyway, she’d found that he was amenable to most things when he was drunk. Really, he was far more agreeable and pleasant to be around when he had a few drinks in him.

The tricky part of her plan, of course, was ensuring that he lost enough rounds to get him into a state of undress without raising his suspicions – or, more likely, raising Geralt’s suspicions, as the witcher was far more attuned to both witchcraft and trickery. She would also have to ensure that she lost a round or two, enough to look genuine, but not so many that she’d have to show any skin. She’d made a point of wearing a lot of accessories.

It all very smoothly, at first. She shed her jewellery, piece by piece. Jaskier lost his ring, and then his boots and stockings, and then his doublet. One more loss, and then all she’d have to do was leave the room to fetch more wine and she could take a look at his back.

Jaskier rolled the dice. “Ah,” he said. “Snake-eyes.”

“Ha,” said Geralt, shirtless and bootless. “I win.”

“Off with it, then,” said Yennefer.

The bard sighed. “If I must,” he said, reaching for the hem of his shirt. Yennefer sat forward in anticipation, watching him strip it off, and –

He was wearing another shirt underneath. An entire second shirt, in a slightly creamier shade of white. She stared in disbelief as he dropped his shed shirt on the bench beside him. For a moment she wondered if he might, somehow, be onto her.

“You’re wearing _two_ shirts?” she blurted out.

“Hm?” Jaskier blinked at her, puzzled and guileless. “Um, no? I _was_ wearing one. Now I’m not wearing any.”

“Then what is _that?_ ” she said, pointing.

Jaskier looked down at himself. “Doublet,” he said, picking it up from the bench and dumping it on the table. “Shirt.” He dumped his white shirt beside his doublet, and plucked at the one he was still wearing. “Chemise.” He lifted its hem, revealing – by all the _Gods_ – a further layer of clothing. “Vest.”

Yennefer stood up so forcefully that her chair clattered to the floor behind her and said, “you have _another_ layer under there?”

Jaskier looked at his linen-clad belly. “Evidently,” he said, and dropped the hem of his chemise. “It’s cold.”

Yennefer stared at him, breathing hard, studying his mind for any hint of deceit, any sign that he had done this intentionally. To all appearances he hadn’t a clue why she cared. It was unbearable. She couldn’t bear it. She wouldn’t bear it.

“I’m going to bed,” she snapped, stepping away from the table. She didn’t bother to right her chair.

From the hallway, she heard Jaskier remark, “that was weird.”

\+ 1.

Hmm,” said Yennefer, running her fingers down the line of hair that ran along Jaskier’s spine. “Hm. Mmm-hm.”

He was lying on his stomach, his face squashed up against the pillow, his eyes closed. “Hm?”

She toyed with the dark hairs at the small of his back. It really _did_ go all the way down, an unbroken line from the nape of his neck to his buttocks. Deeply satisfying. “I’m just thinking.”

“Oh, yes,” he said. “Is your curiosity sated, then?”

Yennefer’s fingers stilled. “My what?”

Jaskier shifted, turning to face her. He opened one eyes. “Your unbearable curiosity about my back hair,” he said. “Is it sated?”

She resumed trailing her fingers along his spine. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Geralt said you were asking about it.”

“I can’t imagine why he’d say a thing like that.”

“Oh, yes,” said Jaskier. “Do you like it?”

“It’s fine,” said Yennefer, fingering the soft hairs at his nape.

He stretched, and sighed. “I must say, it’s not the part of me that ladies usually want to fondle,” he said. “But I’m not complaining. That feels quite nice. Do go on.” Shutting his eyes he settled back down on the pillow.

Yennefer tugged hard on the hairs at the base of his spine.

“Hey – ow!” He pouted. “Mean.”

“I’ll show you _mean_ ,” she said. “I shall hex it off. See how you like _that_.”

“Hex away,” he said, his eyes closed, smirking. “You’ll be the one who’ll miss it.”

Abandoning her exploration of his back, Yennefer settled down on the pillow. She studied his face, his eyelashes, the curve of his lips. “I despise you,” she said fondly.


End file.
